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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24517879">Christ, You Know It Ain't Easy</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/isaacrichard/pseuds/isaac%20richard'>isaac richard (isaacrichard)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Kingsman (Movies), Kingsman: The Secret Service - Fandom</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Adoption, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Brother-Sister Relationships, Family, Father-Daughter Relationship, Gen, Love, M/M, they're not spies. kingsman is a tailor</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 08:07:04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,440</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24517879</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/isaacrichard/pseuds/isaac%20richard</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Michelle Unwin passes away, leaving Eggsy Unwin, her adult son, to assume care of his younger sister. He steals, he hustles, and he gives her a good life. </p><p>Harry Hart, a wealthy tailor with the means to make a toddler's life a dream, wants to make it even better for her.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Daisy &amp; Gary "Eggsy" Unwin, Harry Hart | Galahad &amp; Daisy Unwin, Harry Hart | Galahad/Gary "Eggsy" Unwin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>194</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>i just love babies....<br/>title from the ballad of john and yoko by you fucking know who that's by come on</p><p>**I'm very much American, so excuse any fuck ups with slang!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Sh, Daisy-baby, shh,” Eggsy murmurs, bouncing the child in his left arm while stuffing a new sack of nappies down his pants in his right. He browses the tops of the aisles, checking – nope, no surveillance. Place was too cheap for any of that protective shit.</p><p> “You feelin’ like a new dummy, Daisy?” Eggsy whispers into the crown of his baby sister’s head. She still smelled like an infant, right at the top there, and it calmed with little nerves Eggsy still had. He was much too seasoned a thief to really worry, anymore. His methods were tried and true, and he was in and out before anyone had any idea he’d been there.</p><p> No corner store employee is calling the pigs, anyway – most of them took pity on poor little Eggsy Unwin, having to scrap by to feed his baby sis. Boo hoo, their mummy went and died on them.</p><p>Eggsy rolls his eyes at the mere thought. He doesn’t try to correct, say they were doing just fine, thanks. If the sob story helped him get some more things in his coat, so be it.</p><p> Daisy hums, sticks two fingers in her mouth. He lets her – they were pretty clean if his memory served. She raises her sweet, pink cheeks to him, babbles some nonsense, and gently holds his ear in her tiny hand. Her big blue eyes twinkle with intelligence she was too young to have the words for.</p><p> Eggsy presses their noses together, wiggles them to make her squeal and squirm.</p><p> “You want a pink dummy, or a blue?” He sticks Goldfish crackers into his backpack, followed by a few cans of baby formula. It was so convenient to have them in the same aisle.</p><p>He checks his back once, twice, and hikes Daisy up higher on his hip. She nuzzles into him, and he tucks her pink winter coat tight around her ears. It was getting cold so quickly these days, what with it being almost Christmas.</p><p>Ugh. Christmas. What does a two-year-old want for Christmas, that’s small enough to stuff down your pants?</p><p> Barbies, he guessed. <em>Oi, fuck, is Daisy even old enough for Barbies? No, she’s not…</em></p><p>What else is on the list… He left the one he’d written in the other pair of jeans, hadn’t he? Christ, he had the memory of a goldfish sometimes…</p><p> Daisy whines.</p><p> “Yeah, love, I know,” Eggsy mutters. He’s tired and wants to go home, too. Job searching was starting to get ridiculous – so what if he had a fucking record? Let him put up your fucking fence, for 6 measly fucking quid per job done.</p><p> He shakes his head – no need to get upset. If he got upset, the baby got upset, and that was no good for nobody. A new stuffed animal – looks like a little lamb of some sort – goes into the backpack. Daisy deserves that much.</p><p> Well, she deserves the whole world a million times over, really. But this is what Eggsy had to offer, for now.</p><p>“E’sy,” Daisy demands. Her little brow furrows, like she can’t understand why she’s not at home and in bed by now. “Home, bottle. Please?”</p><p> “You’re hungry?” Eggsy coos. “Me, too. We’ll go home and eat, yeah? And Eggsy will warm up a bottle for you, my lovely Daisy girl.”</p><p> “Home, bottle. Home, <em>please?” </em>Daisy cries, kicking her feet in protest. Her soft, socked toes hardly hurt, but the message is clear.</p><p> Eggsy feels a bit of a meltdown coming on, and he can’t even blame her. If he were two, being out this late would probably make him fussy, too. If those bastards at the unemployment office hadn’t kept them waiting all damned day…</p><p> Eggsy sighs. He was wringing the neck of the next unemployment officer he saw, and that was that. It was only fucking fair, at this point. You don’t keep a man with a baby out this fucking late – it was just bad manners, frankly.</p><p> “E’sy home, <em>please,” </em>Daisy pleads, like the word itself will speed along her request.</p><p> “Two shakes, love,” Eggsy assures her. “We’ll be home in two shakes. I’ll buy myself a pack of fags, alright, and you can get a sucker. Baby’s first vice, and all.”</p><p> He snickers at his own bad joke. Daisy likes the word that means <em>lollipop</em>, though, and hums, pressing her sweet face into Eggsy’s neck. She’s sucking her thumb – they really did need new dummies – and Eggsy can feel where her spit is collecting on his collar. Yuck.</p><p> He zips up the backpack, satisfied with its contents. He slings it over his shoulder and hikes Daisy up on his hip for the millionth time that day. She walked just fine – just not for long. It was hardly worth the trouble of getting her shoes on for her to take a dozen steps and then demand <em>“up, E'sy.”</em></p><p>“And tomorrow, we can pull out the finger-paints,” Eggsy murmurs, stroking Daisy’s fine blonde hair. Her barrette is lopsided, knocked around at the park today. Eggsy adjusts it with his free hand, and goes to stand in line to get cigarettes. “Would you like that, darlin’? Yeah?”</p><p>Before Eggsy can get up to the counter, though, someone grabs hold of his shoulder. Eggsy immediately whips around, launched into attack mode, thinking of twenty ways he can kill whoever’s touched him without needing to set Daisy down.</p><p> “Sorry to startle you,” the someone says softly. It’s an older bloke – fit, but older. Eggsy’s face burns. The guy's hot, and Eggsy was about to murder him! “But I’d like to purchase your items for you. The ones you’re, erm – holding, in your pack.”</p><p> Eggsy’s mind goes blank. Bruv saw him stealing, and wants to pay for it? He – what? Is he out of his fucking gourd?</p><p> “What the fuck?” Eggsy blurts, covering Daisy’s ears. She’s half-asleep by this point, but still. He can’t understand this sudden situation he’s in. “Who are you?”</p><p> “I’m no one,” the kind stranger says. “No one you know, anyway. I was an aisle over and I heard you talking to your daughter. I’m being a Good Samaritan. Don’t feel obligated to accept in any way – I will leave you to your evening if you’re not interested.”</p><p> Eggsy’s jaw drops. “You’re not gonna call the cops?”</p><p> The stranger shakes his head. “None of my business. I don’t like the police, and I don’t meddle.”</p><p> <em>Fuck, this was insane. </em>“I’m Gary –  but call me Eggsy. Eggsy Unwin.”</p><p> “Harry Hart,” the stranger says, and they shake. Daisy stirs.</p><p>“Shh, baby girl,” Eggsy murmurs immediately, taking his hand from the greeting to rub Daisy’s back.</p><p> “How old?” Harry Hart asks, smiling. Daisy was a sweet child just to look at, dark lashes flush against her ruddy cheeks. Eggsy can’t help but feel a little proud – <em>yes, </em>he did have the sweetest, loveliest baby sister in the whole world.</p><p> Eggsy smiles back, though he’s suddenly aware of the gap in his teeth, the holes in his jeans, the scuff in his winged Adidas. Daisy is dressed to the nines, though – all her clothes are new and heavy for winter.</p><p> “Two and a half,” he answers. “And she’s my sister, yeah?”</p><p> “Oh, my apologies,” Harry says. “You’re just babysitting, then?”</p><p> “Nope,” Eggsy says, unashamed. “Legal guardian. Mumsy left us, and Daisy’s da is a… word I can’t say. She’s all mine, now.”</p><p> Harry looks startled, but strangely, pleased. “You’re very responsible,” he murmurs. “Not many people your age want to be parents.”</p><p> Eggsy knows it’s the truth, but he still can’t believe it. Daisy is the best thing that’s ever happened to him. “Well,” he says. “I’m not everybody.”</p><p> “You certainly aren’t,” Harry agrees. “May I pay for your items, Eggsy?”</p><p>“Alright, bruv,” Eggsy agrees. “I think you’re nutty for it – but go ahead.”</p><p> “My pleasure,” Harry says. “All I ask for in exchange is your number.”</p><p> And then, predictably, Eggsy’s jaw drops for the second time.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> While the mysterious Harry graciously pays for his items, Eggsy takes the moment to properly check him out. He’s an older bloke, that hasn’t changed, with salt-and-pepper hair and obvious laugh lines. But he’s fucking <em>fit, </em>even more so than Eggsy had originally thought, with toned arms and a lean build. He’s dressed nicely – casual, but his polo probably costs more than the government gives him and Daisy in a month.</p><p> <em>Good to know the rich and powerful still need milk and eggs, </em>Eggsy thinks bitterly, then pauses, wishing he could take his thought back. The guy was being a real mate, doing him a service when they had only just met, and Eggsy was bitching about it. <em>Real fucking nice, Unwin.</em></p><p> “Oh, and a pack ‘o Marlboros, if you don’t mind. Menthol,” Eggsy says at the last minute. Harry nods, and the bored clerk goes to fetch them. Eggsy snatches up a lollipop while the clerk has her back turned, not even thinking about it. Harry sees – and Eggsy sees him see – but says nothing.</p><p> <em>Who is this fucking guy…?! Is he just as immoral as I am, or does he have a thing for single dads, or what!</em></p><p>“There you are,” Harry says, collecting the plastic bags full of their things. Eggsy can’t remember the last time he walked out of a store with legally acquired merchandise. Since before Mum was in the ground, certainly.</p><p> “Listen, mate,” Eggsy says, hitching both the snoozing Daisy and the bags up a little higher. It’s a bit to handle, and Harry looks like he’s about to jump in to help, but Eggsy gets his grip in time. “I'll give you my number, but I can’t just let you go, after you’ve done all this. Come to my flat and have a cuppa with me. I wouldn’t feel right, otherwise.”</p><p> Harry looks downright flabbergasted, like Eggsy was going to let him slink into the night after doing him such a service. “Uh – your daughter –“</p><p> “Sister,” Eggsy corrects gently. “Daisy is her name. It’s past her bedtime, I assure you. She ain’t need me in dreamland.”</p><p> “Well, if you’re sure I won’t be an imposition,” Harry says quietly. Eggsy can tell he’s grateful – Eggsy’s got the eyes of a thief, and he quickly observes that there’s no ring on Harry’s finger. The guy was probably lonely.</p><p> </p><p>They take a taxi on Harry’s dime, and Eggsy remembers to shut his mouth, this time. He hasn’t been in a taxi since he was little – <em>little-</em>little, like Daisy’s age. This night just keeps getting wilder and wilder.</p><p> His and Daisy’s flat is cozy, if small and cramped. He steps on the mail as soon as he unlocks the door, knocks his hip into the wall, swears, and kicks it aside. It’s all bills, anyway.</p><p> “Make yourself comfy,” he tells Harry, flicking on the lights. The flat fills with warm light – illuminating the endearing mess they called home. “I’ve got to get her set up for bed – feel free to put the kettle on, if you want.”</p><p> Harry nods curtly, though he seems hesitant to complete the task. Eggsy dumps their shopping bags in the corner of the kitchen, resolving to sort them later. Daisy yawns, blinking up at him sleepily. She’s got half her hand shoved in her mouth, and holy shit, that was a lot of saliva. Eggsy makes a mental note to put numbing gel on the next list – she was obviously cutting teeth again.</p><p> “Home?” she asks hopefully, and Eggsy is overjoyed to tell her yes. He smooches her cheeks. They made it!</p><p> “Bottle,” she says firmly, and Eggsy agrees.</p><p> “Jammies, bottle, bed,” he tells her, and she nods gravely, like this was the most important list that had ever been given. It probably was, in Daisy’s world.</p><p> He sets her up with her kitten pajamas and a fresh diaper, going through the routine that should have been done two hours ago. But Daisy is content enough, and there’s a handsome man in his kitchen, so Eggsy tries not to be too annoyed.</p><p> “I’ll bring your bottle,” he tells her. Daisy blinks sleepily, gnawing on her thumb, blonde locks fanned against Eggsy’s pillow. She had her own crib, off in the corner there, but she always ended up in with him, anyway. No need for her to break her neck while trying to get there.</p><p> “Okay,” she says softly, only confirming that she’s heard. She closes her eyes.</p><p> Eggsy pads out into the kitchen, softly shutting the door behind him. Tea has never smelled so good – maybe it’ll get rid of that clinging chill Eggsy feels, even in the heat of the flat. He hoped to God the heater wasn’t going to go on the fritz again. He just plain couldn’t afford it to.</p><p> “She’s asleep?” Harry murmurs, gently setting down the teapot and cups.</p><p> “Mostly,” Eggsy replies, rifling through the plastic bags for the formula. On a second thought, he grabs the package of dummies – purple, instead of pink or blue. A compromise.</p><p> Eggsy notices that Harry has removed his shoes, same as he and Daisy do. Eggsy hadn’t asked him, though he did prefer it.</p><p> <em>An observant gentleman, </em>he thinks absently. He starts through the steps of preparing a bottle, easily shifting to autopilot. He’s done this approximately one zillion times.</p><p> “Isn’t she a bit old for formula?” Harry asks, and though the question is friendly, Eggsy bristles. He didn’t need the criticism, especially when he was cold and tired.</p><p>“Cream and sugar, please,” he tells Harry, sticking the made bottle into the microwave. He hits <em>start, </em>and the thing hacks to life. He was going to get on the landlord’s ass for not having up-to-dates appliances one of these days. Maybe when something finally gave up.</p><p> Eggsy watches the bottle spin. “Yes,” he explains, as patiently as tonight will allow. “But the doc has her on it for weight reasons. She was a small baby, and the prolonged enriched milk helps her get back up to where she’s ‘sposed to be. You know, on the childhood growth percentile.”</p><p> Harry stops, shocked, like he’s surprised Eggsy even knows how to read. Eggsy tries not to take it personally – yes, they lived in public housing, yes, they were poor. Yes, Eggsy had dropped out of higher education before the Marines. None of that made him – or Daisy – fucking <em>stupid. </em></p><p>“You’re surprised I’m not a total fucking twit, huh?” Eggsy murmurs, and sweeps out of the kitchen with the bottle before Harry can reply. It’s juvenile, but it works, because Harry is halfway to an apology when he returns.</p><p> “Eggsy, I –“</p><p> Eggsy holds his hand up. He grins, flashing his gap. He likes this guy. “Busting your chops, mate. Let’s drink some tea, and I’ll tell you why I’m so poor.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>    They sip their tea in silence for several seconds, sitting across from each other at Eggsy’s table. Daisy’s high-chair, still sticky from breakfast, casts shadows across the tile. It was nearly midnight.</p><p> Harry makes a good cup – strong, enough for the taste of the actual tea to come through the cream. Eggsy might just have to keep him around, if only for his tea-making skills.</p><p> He grins again. “I’m not mad, mate, really,” he says. “But when life gives you the opportunity to fuck with the rich…”</p><p> “I’m not <em>rich,” </em>Harry murmurs. “And I am sorry. It was a completely mannerless reaction, and I do apologize.”</p><p> “All’s forgiven,” Eggsy says honestly. He really doesn’t mind – he understands that people get wrapped up their own perceptions, especially if they’ve never actually interacted with a real live poor before. Harry probably hadn’t – probably went to boarding school, came home to Mummy and Daddy once a month, and only played with the boys who had the same brand of gold sewn into their tube socks.</p><p> <em>Be nice, Unwin, </em>he snips at himself.</p><p> “You read people well,” Harry says, and Eggsy blinks, as he wasn’t expecting that one. He sips his tea, finally feeling warm.</p><p> “S'pose,” he says cautiously.</p><p> “Ex-military, or police?”</p><p> Eggsy purses his lips. So, Harry was more than just observant, then. “Marines. And you?”</p><p> Harry smiles, pleased. “You noticed that I had taken my shoes off,” he says, by way of answering Eggsy’s unspoken <em>what the fuck?  </em></p><p>“You noticed I didn’t have a wedding ring. And I noticed you noticing." He pauses. "I was with MI6, to answer your question. Before that, Army.”</p><p> Eggsy nearly breaks his teacup, he drops it so abruptly. “Oi! You were a spy? I always wanted to be a spy!”</p><p> “Me, too,” Harry confides. “It wasn’t as glamorous as they make it seem, I’m afraid.”</p><p> “No 007?” Eggsy jokes.</p><p> “Afraid not,” Harry says, and seems genuinely broken up about it.</p><p> Eggsy makes himself another cup, squinting around, trying to see the flat the way Harry must see it. Almost nothing they own – even the bigger items like the flatscreen –  had been acquired through honest means. Even the paint for Daisy’s pictures had been lifted, and all her crayons, markers, toys, movies, and books had, too. By not paying for the little stuff, Eggsy can be sure they always have the heat on. He’s made his choice.</p><p>He wonders if Harry realizes. If yes, which Eggsy believes is the case – he must not care. That was… interesting. He’s not sure how to feel about it, yet. He’s half worried this is some kind of fucked up sting operation, and the nice guy is actually wearing a wire. Nobody ever did good for no reason, not in Eggsy’s experience.</p><p> “I suppose you still want to know about me, then,” Eggsy says.</p><p> Harry nods. “If you don’t mind.”</p><p> Eggsy didn’t. He feels Harry’s toes uncurl under the table – not because their feet are touching, or anything, but because of the tension that has released in the air. Harry is no longer nervous.</p><p> “Our mum,” he begins. He swallows roughly. “Mine and Daisy’s, I mean – she died about six months ago. It was the same old story they love to run on telly news – too many drugs too quick. They said she wasn’t hurting, though, and I take comfort in that.”</p><p> Harry’s reaction is not what Eggsy expects. There is no saccharine smile brimming with pity. He’s frowning hard, like he really, genuinely hates this for Eggsy and his sister. The sympathy is startling, but he doesn’t say anything, so Eggsy continues. He had yet to explain this to anyone – he very rarely talked to other adults these days, and if he did, it was the mums at the park. And he certainly ain’t unloading this shit on them.</p><p> Harry seems to want to listen, though, and it is good to get it all out. Eggsy was pretty sure he was giving himself a hernia from all the shit he’s holding in.</p><p> “She got mixed up with trouble – Daisy’s da. Real –“ he lowers his voice, even though Daisy is dead asleep by now. “ – huge fucking wanker. I was afraid he was gonna hit Daisy, so I filed for custody. Dean’s record looks worse than mine, so I won. Thankfully.”</p><p> “I’m glad,” Harry murmurs, starting his second cup. Eggsy wonder how long it’s been since he’s had this long of a conversation with anyone, let alone a perfect stranger. “Are you two… alright?”</p><p> “We get by,” Eggsy answers truthfully. Yes, there was a bucket in the next room, poised to catch rainwater from the hole in the roof. And yes, he did sometimes lie awake at night, praying Daisy would never have to beg, borrow, and steal like he did for her. But they got by.</p><p> Daisy was going to uni when the time came, and she was getting a good, stable career that made her happy. Eggsy would make sure of it.</p><p> “And what about you, Harry Hart? Do you buy stolen goods for every cute bloke and his baby?”</p><p> Harry flushes – another thing Eggsy didn’t expect, and he laughs in surprise. Harry catches the laughter, and they’re giggling together in a matter of seconds. God, this was nice. Eggsy felt like he had a friend, again – most of his mates had fucked off when it became clear he could no longer party whenever the night came calling.</p><p> Harry covers his mouth when he laughs, and both of them know Eggsy notices. He concludes Harry must not like his teeth, whether they were stained or crooked or both, and it makes him feel better. No one who had been rich all their life had shitty teeth. It felt like, with that, the playing field had been evened a tad.</p><p> “Me?” Harry says, when they’ve calmed themselves down. “There’s not much to be told, dear boy. I tailor expensive suits all day, and at night I preserve butterflies. I’m a lonely old man with too many war wounds, and I like to help people. I believe in holding out a hand for our fellow man, when one can.”</p><p> “Tailor,” Eggsy echoes. That explains the dough. He can't even remember the last time he wore a real suit – he had given in and thrifted a blazer for his mum's funeral, but that was it.</p><p> “Yes,” Harry says. “I was quite lucky to be gay – Mother probably wouldn’t have taught me to sew, otherwise.”</p><p> Eggsy throws his head back and laughs. This dude was a card.</p><p> “Oh, and my left eye is glass,” Harry adds, pointing. As if he’d forgotten.</p><p> Eggsy gapes, and he can’t stop himself from going, “Wicked. How come?”</p><p> He quickly scans Harry’s face, and for the life of him, can’t tell the difference. That is, until Harry’s right eye moves, catching Eggsy’s gaze, and his left doesn’t follow.</p><p> “Shot in the face,” Harry says, touching his own cheek with the memory. “Point blank range. They were calling me a cat for years afterward.” He waves a hand, like he finds the nickname ridiculous. “You know – that I had nine lives, and always landed on my feet.”  </p><p> “I’ll say,” Eggsy murmurs, stunned.</p><p> Harry hums modestly. “I’m quite sorry about your mum, Eggsy. I lost my own mother not long ago – but I’m not your age, and there’s no child involved. You’ve got more balls than I.”</p><p> Eggsy snickers, because it’s odd to hear the words “balls” come out of this prim gentleman’s mouth.</p><p> “Yeah, yeah. Like I said, we scrape by – even if we scrape, you know?”</p><p> “I do,” Harry says, and Eggsy believes him. “And I’d like to help you not to scrape, if I can.”</p><p> Eggsy’s mouth is immediately open in protest. “Ah, nah, bruv. You’ve done more than enough.”</p><p> “I bought you two cans of formula and a couple of soothers,” Harry corrects. “I have the means, Eggsy. Daisy’s charmed me – so have you. I’d be honored to help you both in any way I’m allowed.”</p><p> And then Eggsy’s kissing him, simply because he has no words worthy of an answer to that.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>did i expect for eggsy to jerk off in this chapter. well no, but who's complaining?</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> “Are you – is she – can we -?” Harry murmurs between breaths. He’s slightly pink in the face, and, though Eggsy never would have admitted it in one billion, zillion years – the older bloke looks <em>cute, </em>blushing like that.</p><p> Eggsy wonders if it’s the mother in him, and decides nope, no – not thinking about anything having to do with babies right now.</p><p>“We can – living room. Daisy’s dead asleep, won’t wake up ‘til 7,” Eggsy purrs, thinking he had never heard less sexy words of initiation. He drops his voice to whisper, petting at Harry’s hair. “Just can’t moan too loud, okay?”</p><p> And then Harry groans, sounded wrecked even though all they’ve done is kiss. No tongue, even, and the guy is hard up for it.</p><p> Eggsy, who hasn’t had time to even think about sex in the last several months, let alone get enough time by himself to have a proper wank, thinks that it’s fucking incredible.</p><p> “Are you…?” Eggsy mutters, face burning, because he has to. He can’t get sick. He has Daisy.</p><p> Harry takes it in stride. “Clean? Yes. And yourself?”</p><p> “’Course,” Eggsy murmurs, and the second it’s out of his mouth, Harry bites at his lip with a frankly obscene number of teeth. Eggsy whines, letting this bloke he’s known for two hours attempt to manhandle him.</p><p> Eggsy’s shirt is in his tea from leaning across the table, and he doesn’t care. He’s found himself really liking Mister Harry Hart, Good Samaritan Tailor. Handsome, funny, and seemingly very loaded. And God, now that he’s got his hands on Eggsy, who is not skinny but is much leaner than Harry, Eggsy can tell just how <em>strong </em>he really fucking is.</p><p>What else can you ask for, really?  </p><p> “How long’s it been?” Harry’s asking him, and then he’s in Harry’s lap for really real, feeling him right under his ass. Obscene. Terrible.</p><p> He’s really liking it.</p><p>It takes Eggsy a moment to answer the question, because he’s trying not to jizz his jeans like a teenager. “God. I dunno. A year, or more?”</p><p> “Oh, dear boy.” Harry sounds genuinely distressed.</p><p> But then Harry leans back, unthinking, and the chair topples backward with them in it. They’re fine – all they have to do is stand up, which Eggsy does, taking Harry with him by the waist. He’s pretty strong, himself, thank you.</p><p> But the chair clatters, loudly, onto the floor.</p><p> One second passes. Two.</p><p> Eggsy holds his breath. And, of course, Daisy begins to wail.</p><p>“Fuck,” Harry mutters, and Eggsy very much agrees.</p><p> “Rain check?” he asks. “I’ve got to – she’s probably wet, and all. Can’t...”</p><p> Can’t do anything, if she’s awake. A crying baby really didn’t do it for him.</p><p> “I understand,” Harry says. He shifts, and Eggsy smiles sympathetically – he’s also dealing with half a situation in his pants. He brushes his hair back, tucks his shirt back in. Eggsy does the same.</p><p> “Let yourself out?” Eggsy asks softly.</p><p> Harry kisses his forehead, and it’s very strange, because Eggsy has become used to being the forehead-kisser. He forgets that, to someone Harry’s age, he’s a youngin himself. “Of course, Eggsy. Goodnight.”</p><p>“Goodnight. Leave your number!”</p><p> Harry smiles, and Eggsy scurries away, thinking <em>dead puppies dead puppies dead puppies </em>and not of Harry’s really stupidly soft lips, like he used a fucking scrub or something…</p><p> <em>DEAD PUPPIES! DAISY NEEDS A CHANGE, YOU HORNY IDIOT! </em></p><p> Right. Task at hand. Harry will be there later.</p><p>He hopes.</p><p> </p><p>Daisy is pissed.</p><p>“Ello, flower,” he tries, but she’s just not having it. He swears up and down, her usually sweet, great blue eyes flash red.</p><p> “Go,” she accuses, throwing her dummy halfheartedly and crossing her chubby arms. Her cheeks are still wet and shiny, and she scrubs at them tiredly. “Go. Not here.”</p><p> Guilt hits him like a train. She had woken up, maybe okay or maybe upset, but definitely needing a change and a cuddle – while he was busy fumbling around with Harry. Shit.</p><p>“Eggsy wasn’t here?” he asks, and she nods vigorously, blonde hair that was still straight flopping up and down. Most of it is piled on top of her head in a bed tangle – it occurs to him they hadn’t brushed her hair tonight.</p><p> He feels like a shit parent, but God, when was the last time he had five minutes to himself? He went from partying every night to crawling in bed at grandma hours, all for her. He decides, pointedly, not to feel too bad. Just this once.</p><p> Either way, he’s here now, and she has all his attention. Which she always blossoms under – in a minute, she gives, and Eggsy’s got her changed, settled, and holding  one of her many stuffed animal in his lap with a quickness. He wants her to go back to sleep, after all, so no dawdling.</p><p> He turns down the light, and she starts to fall asleep easily, dummy in her mouth filling the room with a sound that should not be as soothing as it is.</p><p> <em>Maggie Simpson, </em>he thinks tiredly. He can’t wait until Daisy is old enough to watch <em>The Simpsons</em> with him, holy hell. They’re gonna have such fun.</p><p> Oh, yeah, they’re gonna have a blast. Eggsy smooths Daisy’s hair, imagining teaching her how to drive, how to smoke, how to swear. The best part about being a brother is that he didn’t have to be a dad – he could never be like the hardasses fathers are rumored to be.</p><p> He was nobody’s daddy. Daddies leave – Eggsys are forever.</p><p> She’s holding tight to the fingers of his left hand, and he rocks her until she really is sleeping deeply again, boneless, dummy paused in her mouth. Breathing easily – his perfect little angel, he thinks honestly and without irony, because she was.</p><p>“Sweet dreams, darlin’,” he murmurs into her hair, and easily slides her under the covers. He tiptoes out of the room, and busies himself for a moment, cleaning up the mess he and Harry had made.</p><p> There’s a little happy face on the number Harry left. It’s a business card, pinned above one of Daisy’s more discernable finger pieces.</p><p> <strong>Kingsman Tailors: </strong><em>Appraisal Specialist Harry Hart :)</em></p><p>His number was scrawled in pen under it.</p><p> </p><p>Eggsy finishes clearing up quickly, and pads to the loo, sparing one last glance to make sure Daisy’s really asleep. Then he locks the door, turns up the shower to almost boiling, and has the best wank of his life.</p>
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Hold my hand, love, you hear?” Eggsy says, soft but firm. She can’t get lost in these shops, and he can just imagine her seeing something shiny and waddling away on accident. And then she’d get stepped on, or God forbid nabbed…</p><p> “Okay,” Daisy says, easy, washing away all his fears. Her chubby little fingers hold tight around his bigger ones as her eyes shine, smartly taking in everything around her. All brand new – she had never been out to the true shops, let alone <em>Piccadilly Circus. </em></p><p>Harry offered to take them out, not long after that night, and Eggsy wasn’t a fucking idiot. He couldn’t say no.</p><p> Because when Harry said “shopping”, he didn’t just mean for Daisy, as he had made so abundantly clear – whispered in the afterglow of their really, really quiet fucking. He was offering to get Eggsy himself anything he needed – and the holes in his inadequate winter socks scream that he needs to say yes.</p><p>Eggsy wonders if this makes Harry his sugar daddy. He decides, for Daisy’s sake, that he doesn’t care. And again, he likes Harry well enough. He might even really like him. And Eggsy hadn’t had a real fling in ages, let alone get pounded on the regular. It could be fun, and he’d get more than a few things out of it.</p><p>So, they take a <em>taxi </em>out to the West End. <em>Taxi </em>is a brand-new word for Daisy, and she repeats it over and over until she’s mastered it.</p><p> “Taxi,” Daisy says for the millionth time, clear and correct, and Eggsy gives her a squeeze.</p><p>“Smart cookie,” he tells her. She’d finally stopped trying to climb into his lap, as she was restrained by the belt. At first, she didn’t understand that cars operated under different etiquette than the Tube, but she got ahold of the idea quickly. She really was such a smart girl.</p><p> She points at things out the window, and both Harry and Eggsy take turns naming them for her.</p><p> “What’s that?”</p><p> “Cloud.”</p><p> “Why?”</p><p> “Makes rain, love.”</p><p> “How.”</p><p> “I’m not quite sure. Harry?”</p><p> “Weather cycle,” Harry replies, looking vaguely startled to have been asked such a question. Eggsy could tell he didn’t interact with kids much – and it was kind of hilarious.</p><p> “Weather cycle,” Eggsy tells her, kissing her head, and he catches sight of the driver – an older African woman who had obviously been listening – cracking a smile. They exchange a meaningful look meant solely for parents.</p><p> “Okay,” Daisy says, satisfied. She chews on the sleeve of her pink Peppa Pig shirt. “What’s that?”</p><p> “Bus,” Eggsy replies. And it goes like that.</p><p> </p><p> It makes a fun game, and they’re at the shops in no time. And Eggsy was a thief – but he wasn’t a liar. He would admit to being scared shitless.</p><p> Piccadilly Circus is not the corner store, or the park, or their flat – and those were almost all of the places Daisy had ever been! He wants to bundle her back into the taxi, turn around, and go <em>home, </em>where it’s <em>safe, </em>and even if it weren’t, Eggsy could take on any crackhead neighbor asking for a cup of sugar. He could not combat with the sheer amount of people that would be shopping – even if it was a Wednesday afternoon.</p><p> “Alright, Eggsy?” Harry asks, noticing something amiss. He’d probably be just fine with turning around – Eggsy was sensing he was easy, as Daisy was. It was a relief, honestly, for Harry not to be demanding his attention. He was good with having just the one baby.</p><p> “Alright, Harry,” he lies, because they really do need new things. It was getting cold <em>fast, </em>gearing up to be much colder than last winter. If Harry was going to let him buy like Eggsy thought he would – he was getting them a goddamned space heater.</p><p>Daisy is unhappy to walk, he knows, but she obediently holds his hand until they get her to a trolley. She seems to sense this is an important trip, and works contentedly on her dummy, keeping a solid pace with her little legs.</p><p> “She’s a happy baby,” Harry notes, briskly keeping pace on Eggsy’s other side. He’s dressed much nicer, in his well-fitted oak-colored vest and black long-sleeved undershirt. Harry catches Eggsy staring, and unexpectedly, Eggsy’s cheeks go pink.</p><p> Holy hell, when was the last time someone made him <em>blush? </em></p><p>“She is,” he mutters, focusing on Daisy again, as they’re beginning to reach the first stretch of shopping options. “What would you like, love? Anything you want, they got it – toys, books, games. Clothes, which I know I like more than you do. You name it, Daisy.”</p><p> And Daisy, smart as she was, considers the question. She stops to look up at them both. “Pink,” she says thoughtfully.</p><p> Eggsy and Harry exchange a look, and Harry bursts out laughing.</p><p> “You heard the woman,” he says, and then he looks down at Daisy. "Pink you shall have, my dear."</p>
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<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> “Pretty,” Daisy remarks, running her fingertips over the plastic shell the Rapunzel doll was encased in. She touches the plastic, and then her head, and looks up at Eggsy with a huge revelation in her wide, surprised eyes.</p><p> “Like mine,” she says in awe. Both her and the doll have long, blonde hair, and it’s an astonishing discovery. She turns to Harry, making sure both adults have seen.</p><p> “’Aarry,” she says, increasingly wowed. “Like <em>mine</em>.”</p><p> After an excruciating few hours in the main shopping area, they’ve finally made it to the toy store. Eggsy’s arm ache with bags – but they’re going to be very comfortable for the frigid days ahead. They’d gotten jackets, quilts, and winter socks, but also other things that weren’t priority when Eggsy was lifting. Laundry soap. New towels. And maybe most amazingly, a vacuum.</p><p> Eggsy thinks about how easy picking up discarded Cheerios is going to be and feels his back nearly cry in relief.</p><p> Even so, every time Harry breaks out his wallet, Eggsy looks away, busies himself with whatever Daisy happened to be fascinated with. He <em>knew </em>Harry was wealthy, that he could afford to do this, but Eggsy had never known anyone in his real life to be capable of such a task. He felt like little orphan Annie, and it was surreal as all hell.</p><p> Harry was just a good person, and Eggsy had forgotten those existed in the world.</p><p> Yes, they were screwing, and yes, Harry was an older bachelor who wasn’t denying the company. But there were no strings attached, and they both knew it. If Eggsy told him to step off, Harry would step off, and that would be that.</p><p> Still, though, he looks away. Guilt isn’t unlearned that easily, unfortunately.</p><p> And pink Daisy had gotten, just as she asked. Now that they had made it to the toy store, they were carefully making their way through the aisles, and the trolley was overwhelmingly <em>pink. </em></p><p>It makes Eggsy wish she had her own room, but he shoves aside such impossible thoughts. Government checks don’t cover a two-bedroom. He didn’t know <em>what </em>they were going to do when she was a teenager, as no matter how close they were, an older girl is going to need her space.</p><p> Eggsy puts it away, refocusing on the present. He’s got a decade; he’ll figure it out.</p><p> “Yes, your hair is the same! Very clever,” Harry gushes, and though it sounds played up to Eggsy’s ears, Daisy squeals in delight.</p><p> “Have?” she wants to know. “Have dollie, please?”</p><p> “Such nice manners,” Harry remarks, nodding at Eggsy. “Somebody’s taught you well.”</p><p> “E’sy?” Daisy wonders momentarily, but then decides she doesn’t care. “Have dollie?”</p><p> “Miss One-Track-Mind,” Eggsy mutters affectionately. He scoops her up, sets her in the basket of the trolley. She kicks her feet excitedly, flashing him a toothy grin.</p><p> “Have dollie?” she asks patiently. They still haven’t answered her question.</p><p> Harry turns around, drops the accompanying DVD into the trolley. At Eggsy’s questioning look, Harry only shrugs.</p><p> “She has to know the backstory, right?” Harry asks, grinning. He doesn’t cover his mouth this time – and while his teeth aren’t perfect, they aren’t half bad.</p><p> Eggsy’s hands twitch, wanting to grab Harry by his stupid vest and pull him into a kiss, right here in front of God and Daisy and the toy store families. Harry seems to sense this, and slowly looks Eggsy up and down, as if daring him to do it.</p><p> “’Scuse m’,” Daisy says, losing her patience. Adults were so silly sometimes – couldn’t they hear her? “Have dollie, please?”</p><p> Eggsy snaps out of it. “Of course you can, flower. Thank you for asking so nicely.”</p><p> Daisy squeals. Finally!</p><p> </p><p> “That was okay?” Harry asks, laying the sleeping Daisy gently into Eggsy’s bed. Daisy curls up immediately, dummy moving fast in her mouth, but it gently slows as she settles. Her eyelashes flutter, but she doesn’t wake.</p><p> Eggsy puts a finger to his lips, and nods to the door. Only when the door is firmly closed behind them does he speak.</p><p> “I can think of 300 ways it could have been worse,” Eggsy says. He smiles wearily. “Yeah, it went well. Daisy’s more spoiled than she has any right to be, now.”</p><p> “She deserves it,” Harry says immediately. Daisy has obviously wormed her way right in to Harry’s heart, along with his arms, where she had fallen asleep on the ride back to the flat. It was so cute, Eggsy forgot to be jealous.</p><p> “She does,” Eggsy says. His eyes flicker to the many shopping bags he would have to sort through. “A million times over.”</p><p> “You really love her,” Harry notes. Eggsy just shakes his head. <em>Love </em>simply didn't cut it.</p><p> “She’s my life,” he says.</p><p> They settle onto the couch, just naturally, without Eggsy having to make any stiff invitations. It seemed to Eggsy that Harry just fit with them, him and Daisy. It had only been awkward in those first few minutes of introductions, and then they had been right to giggling together.</p><p> They worked. And they shouldn’t have, especially when Eggsy had already resigned himself to being single until Daisy was in primary school. But Harry Hart fits, like an unassuming puzzle piece Eggsy hadn’t been aware he’d lost.</p><p> “I should make food,” Eggsy mutters, the telly flickering with a movie neither of them are watching. Harry seems half-asleep, which makes Eggsy’s heart overflow with all sorts of domestic feelings.</p><p> “I’ll order in,” Harry murmurs, and Eggsy stops the protest before it leaves his throat.</p><p> As if reading his mind, Harry rumbles, “I want to, Eggsy. You must believe me when I say that.”</p><p> “But why?” Eggsy says suddenly, abruptly untangling them. He sits up. “Who are we to you?”</p><p> Harry turns his head towards Eggsy, looking alarmed, and maybe even slightly hurt. “Eggsy,” he says carefully. “Is this arrangement not working out for you?”</p><p> “No, I…” Eggsy pulls at his hair. He doesn’t know what his problem is, because this should be a dream come true. But he’s never asked for a handout in his life. Being given these things, no debt owed, feels wrong.</p><p> Harry’s dark eyes are calm. Michelle Unwin’s had been that way – where Eggsy was sure Daisy had gotten it from – before Dean and the shitstorm he brought. Eggsy can remember being Daisy’s age, or perhaps a little older, and Mummy’s calm eyes assessing whatever childhood woes he brought her.</p><p> She had never yelled. Eggsy had never known yelling in the home, before Dean.</p><p> “I like you, Harry, and I appreciate all you’ve done,” Eggsy says slowly. His thoughts are a jumble. “But I … I feel like I’m going to owe you. I’ve never – No one’s ever done this for me.”</p><p> Harry’s face falls. “Oh, dear boy,” he says. “Don’t you see you deserve it?”</p><p> Eggsy suddenly realizes his appraisal of Harry as <em>out of his gourd </em>had been correct. Eggsy Unwin was a thief. A dirty hustler. The kind of rent-boy adjacent criminal who would do everything shy of take a dick up the arse for a quick profit. He didn’t deserve shit, except to be spat on.</p><p> Those calm eyes look so sad. “You don’t believe it,” Harry says. “But you’ve given up your entire young adulthood for that girl in there. You did this for no reward – purely out of the good of your heart, and love for your sister. Daisy deserves the world – but Eggsy, darling, so do you.”</p><p> Eggsy loses his fight. He sinks into the couch and covers his eyes, frustrated.</p><p> “Some people play cards with their money,” Harry says softly. “Some people buy expensive cars, or take trips to exotic places. I prefer to invest differently – people are going to flourish more than stocks, in my mind. I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t want to.”</p><p> Eggsy makes an unconvinced noise. Harry gives his knee a squeeze. “Shall we see what we can order?”</p><p> “Yes,” Eggsy says, in a soft, defeated voice. He couldn’t figure out why Harry would lie – but it just couldn’t be the truth, could it?</p><p> Could it?</p>
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<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>you didn't think i'd leave ya hanging, did ya? :) thanks for reading, yall have been so sweet on this. who doesn’t love Christmas in July?</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> Eggsy figures, he and Harry don’t have the time for each other.</p><p> This should have occurred to him weeks ago, when they both couldn’t make three dates in a row – tailor thing, Daisy doctor visit thing, unemployment office visit (again, the fucking bastards). But it’s only now, that they’re curled under the Christmas lights, post-Daisy bedtime routine and also post-fuck, that he shakes his head to himself.</p><p> “We can’t do this, Harry,” he murmurs. Shaking his head, and – for reasons he doesn’t care to examine at this current moment – fighting a bit of tears. “My calendar isn’t free enough.”</p><p> Harry chuckles, but his eyes are dark, concerned. “I’ve no problem with leaving, if you’ve concluded you’d rather not try,” he says, kind. “But otherwise… I do think we can make it work, dear boy.”</p><p>Eggsy shakes his head, a little starstruck. “No one’s given enough of a shit before,” he whispers. “And you know I can’t put Daisy second.”</p><p> The Christmas lights flicker – red, green, white – on the tree they’d decorated that afternoon. Daisy had fallen in love with ornaments, and was apparently convinced she needed to be looking at one every second for the rest of her life.</p><p> Even now, as she slept in Eggsy’s bed, she had a large, red, baby-proofed ornament clutched in one hand. They’d made sure she couldn’t fit it in her mouth and let her cart it around, to her absolute overjoyment.</p><p> Eggsy was sure it had a name, but he couldn’t decipher what it was through the excited babbling. He was simply happy she was enjoying herself.</p><p> And she was – she had figured out that Christmas equaled presents, though was on very shaky ground about that Father Christmas man. All she needed was E’sy, thank you.</p><p> “I hope you don’t think I’m ‘no one’, Eggsy,” Harry says, and Eggsy even feels bad he has to be reassured this way. “And I surely hope you don’t think I expect to be put above a child in terms of attention.”</p><p> And as much as Eggsy tells himself Harry means what he says, as much as he tries to tell himself Harry wouldn’t ever lie and then take off to hurt them – he’s been lied to before. And although Harry would sometimes wax poetic about what a wonderful soul Eggsy was, Eggsy knew better.</p><p>The world ran on capital. What did he have to offer Harry, really?</p><p>Nothing. A broken flat and an obligation.</p><p> Eggsy shakes his head. “I know it sounds like I don’t want ya, but it’s not like that, Harry, believe it. It’s me. It’s us, Daisy and me. We have nothing to give you for fuckin’ Christmas, even, because I had to spend that money on formula last week.”</p><p> Money always got tighter after the snow hit. Hotter heat, heartier foods, lighter pockets. There’s a pause, as Eggsy searches Harry’s face.</p><p>Harry, who only smiles. “I grew up dirt poor, Eggsy.”</p><p> Eggsy feels his world fall off its axis. He sits up, clawing upwards on the couch. “<em>What?” </em></p><p>“Yes,” Harry says. He’s grinning like he’d won the damn lottery.</p><p> “I’m sincerely sorry for not telling you, but I knew you had me marked as born with a silver spoon. No, my dear.</p><p>Kingsman was a favor gifted to me by a close friend after my time in the military, but I didn’t come from money. I know how it is on the other end. You can stop being so sorry, now. I know where you come from.”</p><p> He takes Eggsy’s hand, gives it a squeeze. “I don’t think lesser of you. Life is a terribly hard thing to maneuver if you’re given the right tools, let alone if you’re lacking them. I only want to help. You’ve stolen my heart, dear boy. No other reason than that.”</p><p> </p><p> Christmas morning is – well, it’s ridiculous.</p><p> It starts off ridiculous, because Harry not only can cook, but he made the most outlandishly hotel-looking breakfast Eggsy had ever seen. Pancakes, eggs, bacon, all looking like it was a photograph in <em>Good Housekeeping, </em>and tasting twice as good.</p><p> “What the fuck,” Eggsy murmurs, with his first mouthful. He’d kick himself for swearing front of Daisy, if she weren’t busy chowing down like they were going to take her plate away.</p><p> Harry smiles. “Happy Christmas,” he says.</p><p>  Eggsy notes that he’s fully dressed already, having slinked off the couch in the wee morning hours. He finds it fitting, like Harry wouldn’t be one to lounge around in sleeping wear, but not like he has any obligation to follow suit. It’s not even eight yet!</p><p> “Happy Christmas,” Eggsy murmurs back. Daisy babbles something that sounds like she echoes the sentiment. She gives a few happy kicks in her highchair.</p><p> It only gets more ridiculous from there. The gifts – and Eggsy couldn’t even tell you how Harry managed to procure them without waking Eggsy up. Spy shit, or something.</p><p> There’s a million of them. More than the things Eggsy had purchased at the shops, even.</p><p> And, though he wishes he did, he really doesn’t have anything to give Harry but an envelope, containing a card signed by Daisy and himself, and a key to the flat. He wished he had more, but money had been tighter than most other months, given the climate and the heating bill.</p><p> But he’d give Harry the key copy, so he would know he was welcome anytime. He at least deserved that.</p><p> Daisy loses her shit when he sets her by the Christmas tree, right within arm’s reach of the presents. Eggsy wishes he could put it more eloquently, because she’s still a baby, but she <em>loses her shit. </em>There was no other way to put it but that. The shrill shriek of joy she gives is enough to make both adults' ears ring. Their downstairs neighbors surely heard her tiny feet jumping up and down.</p><p> </p><p> The second he sets her to the floor, she nearly trips over her own two feet, scrambling to get to the presents.</p><p> She rips open the first one her little hands find, babbling excitedly, bouncing up and down. Eggsy lets her go, figuring Christmas wasn’t the best time to ask a two-year-old to remember her manners, and Harry watches with great enthusiasm, still completely baffled by the workings of children that young.</p><p>She squeals, revealing the box.</p><p> A blender. All that, for a blender.</p><p> Eggsy bursts out laughing. “I don’t think those are yours, love.”</p><p> </p><p> After she’s guided to the correct gifts, she ends up with way too many pink toys, new dollies and a carriage for them, a dollhouse that stands taller than her. Too much – more than they need, or have the room for – but Eggsy just laughs, watching her. Watching Harry watch her, with the most rapt attention he’d ever seen.</p><p> Like Eggsy imagines he himself looks, from the outside. Like someone who cared a great deal about the little girl who meant everything to him.</p><p> Eggsy puts away his fears, even if it’s just for today. It’s what the Big Man would want on His birthday, right?</p><p> </p><p> Eggsy himself ends up with many household items, the things he’d never had enough frivolous spending money for. The blender, new saucers, a rug. He decides now is the time to give Harry the envelope. It’s crushed from his pocket, but he takes Harry’s hand and sets it in his palm.</p><p>“It’s not much,” he says.</p><p> Harry gives him a look, like he wants to contest that sentence, but he opens the envelope instead. He holds up the key.</p><p> If Eggsy didn’t know better, he would say the old bloke looked a little choked up.</p><p> “Oh, Eggsy. Thank you.” He puts it on his keyring without another word, beaming.</p><p><em>Fuck it, right?</em> Eggsy thinks, watching him, but most definitely does not say. He gives Harry a peck on the cheek, from where he sits beside him, just to make him grin, while he manipulates the flat key next to his car’s.</p><p>The broadcasted fire crackles on the telly. Daisy shakes a doll box like she expects the wanted item to fall through the plastic.</p><p> <em>It’s Christmas!</em></p><p> </p>
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